


It's Timey-Wimey, My Dear Watson

by justabrain



Category: Doctor Who, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Confused Sherlock, Crossover, Gen, Sherlock Makes Deductions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-05-11 09:22:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5621971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justabrain/pseuds/justabrain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Martha and the Doctor accidentally end up on Baker Street, and run into some of its inhabitants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Timey-Wimey, My Dear Watson

The TARDIS shuddered to a stop, and Martha cautiously stood up from where she had been thrown to the floor by the ship’s pitching back and forth. “ _What_ was _that_?”

A mischievous grin popped up from the other side of the console. “I have no idea. Want to go find out?”

Almost rolling her eyes, Martha strode towards the door and flung it open, only to be greeted by the view of an alleyway. “Doctor? Are you sure we've landed on Roxi–"

"Raxacoricofallapatorius?"

"Yeah, because this looks remarkably like an alley in the middle of London."

The Doctor strode around the console and peered out the door. "That it does," he said, and he stepped outside. "Coming?"

Martha smiled and exited the TARDIS, closing the door behind her. “Didn’t you put the coordinates, or whatever it is you use, in for Raxicofa—the other place? So why are we in London on…” She glanced at the street sign. “On Baker Street?”

“I have no idea,” he muttered, glancing around at the seemingly normal street.

Suddenly, Martha’s stomach growled loudly. “I’m sorry, I am starving. Think we could grab something to eat at that café over there?”

“Haven’t you been using the TARDIS’s kitchen?”

“The time vortex makes things taste a bit…questionable. I am dying for some _real_ food.”

So, after letting the waitress see the psychic paper which apparently gave them two free meals including drinks, the two sat down to their sandwiches.

While Martha dug into her sandwich, the Doctor seemed to remain on high alert, scanning the restaurant and the street out the window. “What’s wrong?” she asked as she wiped her fingers and picked up her glass of water.

“Something doesn’t feel quite right,” he said softly. “I can’t quite put my finger on it.”

Martha laughed. “It’s just London! What, do the red buses make you uncomfortable? Or not seeing the Queen everywhere?” She smiled and shook her head. “Come on, just enjoy the food.”

The Doctor didn’t smile.

Her stomach still complaining, Martha decided to ignore the Doctor’s mood for the time being and turned back to her sandwich. Soon, the waiter came back over to their table. “Enjoying the food, ma’am?”

With a smile, Martha nodded. “Yes, thank you!”

“I’m glad. And you, sir? Ah, not eating I see. You know, you remind me just like one of our regulars, Sherlock.” Martha nearly spit out the bite of her sandwich she had just taken. “Oh, have you heard of him? I wouldn’t be too surprised; he’s been in the papers a bit lately.” Turning back to the Doctor, he continued. “It’s the cheekbones I think. And the suit, though his is normally black. And that you don’t eat much.” The bell on the counter rang. “I better go. I should introduce you two sometime! Enjoy your food!”

The Doctor and Martha stared at each other in shock for a moment as he walked away. Finally Martha broke the silence. “Did he just say… _Sherlock_?!”

The Doctor shook his head. "No, he must have been talking about someone else with the same name. Sherlock Holmes doesn't exist."

“Well, I would have said the same about King Arthur, but you said you’d met him. What was it? You pulled the sword out of the stone _for_ him? Doesn't that count as 'meddling in time' or whatever?”

“Well... It's a bit more complicated than that. King Arthur was a real person anyway. Sherlock Holmes is a fictional character created by Sir Arthur..." He trailed off at the look on Martha's face as she looked past him and out the window.

"Doctor..." she started in a daze, and she trailed off.

"What's wrong? Is my hair messed up?" He ran his fingers through it as he turned to see what had made her mouth literally fall open, and his hand froze mid-hair. A tall, slender man wearing a black trench coat and a dark blue scarf was standing on the sidewalk next to a cab. As he waited for his companion, a shorter blond man, to pay the fare and exit the cab, the first man examined the deerstalker hat in his hands with obvious disgust.

"What?!" the Doctor exclaimed.

”There is no way that is a coincidence," Martha said quietly.

The Doctor shook his head. "It has to be. There's eight and a half million people in London; there's bound to be someone who looks like Sherlock Holmes."

"Who happens to get out of a cab on Baker Street, holding a deerstalker, accompanied by a shorter man?" Martha raised her eyebrow.

"It wouldn't be the strangest coincidence I've seen."

She shook her head in awe and laughed. "What is it going to take for you to at least be curious? Them saying each other's nam–"

"Hurry up, John, Mrs Hudson has tea waiting for us," came the voice from outside, cutting Martha off mid-word.

"There are lots of people named John?" the Doctor protested weakly.

Martha rolled her eyes. "We are going to go meet him. I don't care why we _actually_ ended up here; I am going to meet Dr. Watson."

 

–––

 

“Oh, Sherlock, here’s a new one. She’s walking towards the door very determinedly, and he’s following, not quite as enthusiastically.”

“Money matters. Her parent, probably mother, died and left a sizable inheritance and she wants to know why she hasn’t gotten it, though she suspects her husband had something to do with it.”

“Why not just go to a court then? And she doesn’t look mad.”

“Because people are idiots. Go let them in so they can leave.”

“I think…” John listened for a moment. “Yes, Mrs. Hudson is already on it.”

Sure enough, Mrs. Hudson’s voice came up the staircase ahead of her. “Yes, they’re both right up this way. Would you like some tea?" She opened the door to the sitting room. "Or some biscuits?"

"No, thank you, Mrs. Hudson," the woman said absentmindedly.

As Mrs. Hundson left, flattered that the other woman had known her name without having to introduce herself, the man who had accompanied her addressed Sherlock.

“Who _are_ you?”

John blinked and then shook his head. “I’m sorry? I could ask the same of you.”

“I’m the Doctor, this is Martha —”

“Dr. Martha Jones, and I can speak for myself, thanks.”

“— but who are _you_?”

John looked over at Sherlock, who was still sitting in his armchair, looking at the pair closely, and who was apparently not going to be of any help in this nonsense. He let out a laugh of disbelief. “Who _are_ we? Obviously you know who we are or you wouldn’t have come. Dr. Watson and Sherlock Holmes.” He gestured towards the armchair. “Now, if you don’t have any _actual_ reason for coming, I suggest you lea— What are you doing?”

The Doctor kept looking at the small, fancy, torch-like device that was making odd noises as he pointed it at John and Sherlock. “Since you aren’t telling me who or what you are, I’m going to find out without your help.” He whacked the device against his palm. “Come on…” he muttered.

Martha rolled her eyes and grabbed his arm, tugging him into the kitchen behind them. “Doctor, did you ever stop to think that maybe that’s _actually_ Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson over there and that’s why the sonic is saying that they’re human?”

“But they can’t be! I met Doyle. I inspired him to write Sherlock!”

“Ok… Maybe we slipped into an alternate universe where Sherlock Holmes is an actual person and Doyle never existed. Or didn’t write the Sherlock Holmes stories.” Martha sighed. “Just… act normal, ok?”

 

–––

 

Sherlock had watched the two closely ever since they had entered, and something was off-putting about the man, the Doctor as he called himself. He had unruly curly– no, straight, styled hair. He had no scarf, and yet... he did. His coat was simultaneously a motley of brightly colored fabrics and a solid, inconspicuous brown. Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut, quickly shaking his head, and regarded the man once again, but to no avail. The Doctor had, of all things, a piece of _celery_ pinned to his shirt– but no, that was mad.

Trying to ignore his contradictory clothes, Sherlock turned to the rest of the Doctor. He was fairly young, mid-30’s, yet his eyes told of sights more than one life should ever know. It was a familiar sight; he saw it often in John’s eyes, yet this man did not stand like a soldier. There was a sadness despite the smile, hidden wrinkles that were not quite there. _You look sad when you think he can’t see you,_ Molly’s voice echoed in his head, and he brushed it away.

Pressing his hands together and pursing his lips, Sherlock turned to examine the young woman, Martha. The scattered pieces of cat hair stuck to her pants evidenced a cat she had pet and tried to hold, but that did not want to stay, so not her cat. No dog hair and no smell of any other pets, just that of a cheap, scented deodorant. She was quite intelligent and fairly well-read from the familiarity with which she had scanned their bookshelf. Unlike her companion, her crush, she was entirely free from contradictions.

“…from MI6?” John scoffed. “What, Mycroft couldn’t bother to come himself?”

Sherlock turned his attention to see the Doctor pull out a leather pouch, presumably with some sort of identification in it, and show it to him.

After examining it for a moment, he shrugged and motioned for it to be shown to Sherlock. With a sigh, Sherlock stood to grab the badge.

 

–––

 

“Where’s the badge?”

John furrowed his eyebrows and looked closely at his friend. “Ah, Sherlock… It’s right there. In your hands.”

Sherlock glanced up at him. “Why did you give me a blank piece of paper?” he asked the Doctor as he tossed the pouch at the other man’s feet. It fell open to reveal the badge still inside.

“Sherlock!”

“See?” the woman, Martha, hissed to the Doctor, poking him. “Extreme intelligence. Believe me now?” she asked.

“Mind telling me what the hell is going on here?” John demanded. “Why do I see a badge when he—” John pointed towards the window where Sherlock stood. “—doesn’t? Why was he also freaked out when he was deducing you? And why are you even here if Mycroft didn’t send you?”

The clock on the mantle ticked out the six seconds it took for the Doctor to reply.

“Do you have some chairs in here?”

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this as a birthday/Christmas present for my friend Lydia, and she was kind enough to let me post it! 
> 
> Fun fact, if you know your episodes, for Martha and the Doctor this took place right after "Gridlock" with the cat people.


End file.
